The Boy in the Window
by Peppermint Clouds
Summary: There were only three rules in the Haddock household: keep your head down, remember your lines, and don't ever, ever tell. Hiccup knew better than most children that there would be consequences for those who do not play along. [Modern AU. Rated T for violence. Trigger warning for child abuse.]


**Author's Note:** I don't know if anyone has noticed, but I pretty much only write melodramatic stories. I've covered miscarriage, death, self-harm, depression, and domestic violence already. Child abuse is next up. This is my way of getting the word out on these issues, so I plan on continuing. If anyone has an idea for a new story topic, feel free to PM me.

 **Warning:** There will be graphic descriptions of violence in this story.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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Hiccup sat by his window, his bony knees tucked under his chin; his mother's chin. He had always been said to have her face, her smile, her good nature. Most said it was a good thing. One other in particular did not.

This was the reason why he hid in a corner of his dark bedroom.

A stuffed black dragon was cuddled against his chest, its glassy green eyes catching the orange glow of the streetlight outside. "Toothless," he had nicknamed it the night after he lost his very first tooth. The dragon's own mouth was sewn shut, as if he were too shy to reveal a missing fang. They were one in the same, best friends forever. Hiccup would be a brave boy when Toothless was counting on him. No one was allowed to be mean to his friend, not even his daddy or Scott, his bully of a cousin.

After all, next week he would be a whole seven years old. Almost a big kid. Maybe people would start to take notice of him then.

Below his feet, the garage door rumbled open. Hiccup pressed his nose against Toothless' soft body. "Shhh, bud. Everything's gonna be okay," he whispered. His little heart banged against his rib cage as heavy footfalls echoed throughout the house. There was a hollow thud; his father's briefcase falling onto the kitchen table, as it always did when he returned from a bad day of work.

Lately, almost every day seemed to be a bad day. So Hiccup did his best to make his father happy. He had climbed onto the counter to put the clean dishes away, made his bed every morning before school, and pinned the colorful drawing of their family he had made at school to the fridge.

You see, Hiccup didn't like it when his daddy was angry. His breath would start to smell like rotten fish and he stopped listening. Stopped thinking. Stopped caring.

So Hiccup kept his head down, remembered the lines he was given every morning before he ran to catch the bus, and didn't speak to anyone unless spoken to, especially not the adults and big kids. They looked at him funny when he recited his lines, like they didn't understand. It made sense to Hiccup. His daddy was a smart man; he would never tell Hiccup to say something bad.

"Hiccup!"

 _I love him_ , he told himself. His daddy only punished him because he was bad and needed to learn.

Hiccup kissed Toothless' nose before standing and slipping the toy under his pillow, where he would be safe. Then he opened the door, light flooding into the room, and made the journey downstairs to the kitchen.

Gerard sat at the table, his shiny face flushed a bright crimson. He stabbed a large finger at the sheet of green construction paper in front of him, blocking the smiling purple stick-woman from view. "What is this?" he growled.

Hiccup twisted his hands together behind his back anxiously. "I-it's us."

"And what did I tell you about bringing up your mother?" His father spit out the last word like it had burned his tongue.

"You told me not to, but I thought it would make you happy to see mommy again. You're always so sad."

Gerard crumpled the drawing up in his fists and stood to throw it in the trash, his eyes never leaving the boy's face. "She is _dead_ , Hiccup. Don't dig up the past."

"No, just listen-"

That was all it took. Hiccup took note of his mistake the second before his father's eyes flashed. He had broken the third rule. All of the oxygen in Hiccup's lungs rushed past his lips as his father seized his shoulders and shook them roughly. He squeezed his eyes shut as his father shouted, his angry voice distant.

 _Don't look, don't think, don't speak,_ he thought. _Remember the rules and daddy will be happy. Why can't I make daddy happy?_

"No. You _listen_ here, boy. If you like the clothes on your back and the meals I put on that table, you'll keep your mouth shut," Gerard hissed.

Hiccup remained frozen, his lip trembling. He wouldn't cry. Little babies cried, not big kids. He was going to be a big kid soon, was going to get them all to listen and-

His back crashed into the wall beside the door that led out into the garage, his head just missing the sharp, jutting lip of a shelf. His eyes stung with the arrival of fresh tears as the bruised skin began to throb.

Then again, the brass doorknob working its way into the small of his back. And again. And again. Over and over until his lips cracked open and he sobbed an apology, promising to follow the rules next time.

"Only the weak cannot stand pain, Hiccup. Good children hold back their tears."

The child stood still, listening to his father's heavy breathing as the older man backed away. He flinched when a large fist crashed through one of the glass panels in the cupboard beside him, shards of glittering glass exploding forth. Then his father was gone, glass crunching under his glossy dress shoes as he swore and shook his bloody hand.

A soft sob left Hiccup's parted lips as the kitchen light was flicked off.

He remained frozen to the spot until his father had gone upstairs and he heard the bed creak beneath his weight. Then he turned and reached out, searching the air for obstacles in his path. He used his toes to feel for shards of glass as he guided himself through the dark kitchen. The streetlight, glowing brighter now that the sun had fully slipped beneath the horizon to rest, illuminated his silhouette.

His throat felt tight and dry, his entire body thrumming with white hot pain. He needed his dragon. Toothless would know what to do to make everything okay again; he always did.

He was so scared. He wanted his mother, or his dragon, or _someone_ to make it all go away. He just wanted to draw pictures and play with the other children at school and make his daddy proud. But he couldn't have those things because he was a bad child. He had refused to follow his daddy's rules, so he had been punished. He never learned.

And that disgusted him.

By the time he made it to his bed, where Toothless waited patiently under his pillow, his feet ached and bled. He examined them for glass shards before easing himself onto the mattress and sliding his legs under the covers, his back sore from the beating it had taken. He whimpered. No, not a beating. His daddy would never beat him. It had been no more than a simple correction, like how his teacher, Ms. Eriksson, helped the class work through a hard assignment.

He cradled the black dragon to his chest, smoothing a small thumb over its outstretched raven wings as he hummed an old lullaby his mother used to sing to him before she disappeared.

However, no matter what he tried, he couldn't chase away the emotions racing through his mind; the worry of what the next morning would bring.

After all, _anger_ is just one letter short of _danger_.


End file.
